


Poker Face (without the poker)

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: Shameless (US) A.U.gust [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AUgust - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Content, summary is bad but there's porn i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obviously redheads are all leprechauns, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Face (without the poker)

**Author's Note:**

> eheehHEEHEEH
> 
> i went to a casino and this is what happened oops

                Ian had taught himself not to get too involved with patrons after his first month or so working at the casino. He wasn’t a bartender; but it was bartender’s job to be chatty and social and flirtacious. Ian was just a cocktail waiter, he wandered around picking up empty glasses and toting around flutes of champagne. He didn’t do anything else because he wasn’t paid to do anything else. Sometimes patrons flirted with him but he just looked bashful and acted as flattered as he had to not to offend anyone before he got the fuck out of there.

 

                But this one guy just wouldn’t stop, and for once he thanked his lucky stars that it was a cute guy who was just rough enough to appeal to him. A lot of people hit on him, but they were usually old women who thought he was just _adorable_ or old men who admired how his pants fit him as he leaned over a table to gather up glasses.

 

                He’d just been on his way past a craps table when a voice called out; “Ay, firecrotch!”

 

                He only paused for a second, just to see if that incredibly inappropriate nickname was directed at him. He cast his gaze around his general surroundings and he was going to keep heading towards the bar to drop off the glasses he’d picked up when he met the eyes of a man sitting at the table nearest him.

 

                “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you,” he said, a bit loudly. Ian knew the guy had been swiping drinks off his tray all night and he was more than a little tipsy. “C’mere, Ariel. Got a job for you.”

 

                “I’m going to have to cut you off soon, sir,” Ian said, striding over to the man and offering him a drink off the tray.

 

                “Name’s Mickey. Not sir,” the man told him. “And I didn’t call you over here for a drink but I’ll take one since you’re here.”

 

                Ian watched him as he took a flute of champagne off the tray and guzzled it down. Ian waited for the glass and Mickey placed it back on the tray. He turned to go back to work but Mickey caught him by the sleeve and he would have normally been offended but something about Mickey didn’t set off any bells in Ian’s head. Ian looked back at him and frowned as Mickey held out his hand.

 

                “Blow,” he ordered. Ian blinked at him and Mickey shook his hand impatiently. “Blow on my dice.”

 

                “Why?” Ian asked, probably too rudely considering he was working.

 

                “You’re a redhead so you’re probably Irish so you might be a fucking leprechaun so you’re bound to be good luck,” Mickey held his hand out again. “I can’t do any fuckin’ worse at this point, anyways. So blow on ‘em, firecrotch.”

 

                Ian felt very awkward about doing it but he figured the easiest way to appease this guy and go back to work was to humour him. He bent down just as far as he had to and blew out a half a breath into Mickey’s hand and onto the dice. He could only see part of the man’s knuckle tattoos but he saw enough to know that they weren’t suitable for public like this. Ian was reminded of the rough and tough nature of his family and he felt utterly charmed.

 

                Once he’d done as Mickey asked, he reluctantly went on his way. On his way back to the bar he heard the dice clatter on the table and a whoop of joy that might have been Mickey.

 

-

 

                Ian continued working and Mickey continued calling him over to blow on his dice. Ian never stuck around to see the outcome of his supposed ‘blowjobs of luck’ but he assumed he was doing something right since the man kept calling after him from across the room every time he walked by.

 

                It wasn’t until the third round of this cycle that Mickey thought to ask Ian for his name.

 

                “It’s Ian,” Ian said, taking the empty glass from Mickey once he’d drained it.

 

                “I’m gonna keep calling you firecrotch,” Mickey decided. “Unless you’re gonna do somethin’ about it, tough guy.”

 

                “I like that one better than the others,” Ian sighed. He blew on Mickey’s dice when prompted, and then when he turned to go Mickey’s hand gripped at his sleeve again.

 

                “You’re not goin’ anywhere,” Mickey declared. “I’ve been winning everytime you’ve been around so you’re not fucking going anywhere. You’re gonna win me big money.”

 

                “But I have to work,” Ian said, handing a glass of champagne to a woman sitting a table down from Mickey.

 

                “What’s that, mumbles?” Mickey asked when Ian turned back to him, and Ian paused as he took in the bright, drunken grin Mickey shot at him.

 

                “I said I have to work,” Ian replied.

 

                Mickey frowned as he contemplated this for a moment. “Fine,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at Ian. “But once you get off, you’re all mine.”

 

                As Ian gathered some more glasses and strode off to continue working, he looked back at Mickey and found himself thinking that being all Mickey’s might not be so bad.

 

-

 

                A few hours later when Ian slumped down on top of Mickey, panting and exhausted after fucking him into the money-strewn hotel mattress, he tried to think of an adjective to describe his night. Other people might use _awkward_ since Mickey had crawled off the bed and hobbled off to take a shower right afterwards.

 

                Ian took that as a cue to leave, and began getting dressed, shoving the outer layer of his uniform into his bag and pulling on just the bare essentials. As he was stepping into his pants he heard wet feet on the tiled floor from the bathroom and he looked up to see Mickey scowling at him.

 

                “The fuck you gettin’ dressed for?” he asked, voice still raw from the rough blowjob he’d given Ian in the bathroom at the casino. “C’mon, man. I know it’s a hotel and I’m not payin’ the water bill, but you’re wastin’ time standin’ there.”

 

                “What?” Ian finally asked. He eyed what he could see of Mickey’s damp torso and his warm flushed skin. He possibly looked even better now than he had all night. “You’re letting me stay?”

 

                “The fuck does it look like, firecrotch?” Mickey asked. “No. Fuck. Nevermind. You wanna chit chat more, or you wanna get on me?”

 

                Mickey smirked as he watched Ian cross the room while stripping, barely avoiding tripping on his pants.

 

                A good word would be _athletic_ , Ian thought after they’d just finished their third round (the rimjob Ian gave Mickey bent over the bathroom counter didn’t count since no-one came. Right?) and Mickey finally fell asleep. Ian couldn’t help but be impressed at Mickey’s refractory period and frankly alarming sex drive. Not that you’d ever hear him complaining.

 

-

 

                _Awkward_ would be the appropriate adjective to describe the next morning. Ian woke up to Mickey groaning and rolling away from him as a girl stood out at the foot of the bed and verbally berated him.

 

                “Could you possibly be louder and more annoying, bitch?” Mickey grumbled, rolling over and faceplanting into the pillow. She jumped onto the end of the bed and started yanking at their covers which had Mickey alert and cussing as he clutched at them to keep himself covered. “Okay! I stand fucking corrected!”

 

                “Get up,” the girl ordered, climbing off the bed and walking over to the table to pick up a paper bag she’d sat there. “I got you breakfast,” she said, throwing a wrapped bagel at him. She smirked. “If I’d known you were having a naked slumber party, I would have gotten some for your special friend here too.”

 

                “Fuck off, Mandy,” Mickey sighed, gathering up the sheet and rolling his body up in it so he could lumber off to the bathroom. He left Ian to grab a pillow to cover his junk with, but Mandy still got an eyeful and smirked nonstop at the pair of them as they all abandoned their bagels and went to get real breakfast. _Awkward_.


End file.
